10.15.99
Yee-haw!
It's been ages since updating…there have been many things up in life recently, and many things that should bear discussion. However, I have a topic, and I intend to stick to it, damn it! First, so that you have a clue as to what I am thinking about, I'm listening to Gay.com radio. You may access it from their main page, and it magically appears in your RealPlayer thingie. Their topic is children in gay marriages. They happen…really! In fact, a few short hours ago, I had lunch with a fellow who has been with his bf for 19 years, and have an adopted 15-year-old son. It's an interesting topic, and one that I had not considered before. We all know that I do not have a great love of children, unless they are well behaved and proper. Therefore, when the child next to us at lunch began to misbehave, and I stated that I liked my children boiled, he said "You should ask me about this ring." He indicated a Cartier band on his finger that bore a strong resemblance to my own. That's when my faux pas was brought to light.
That's not the topic, though. My topic is this: Follow your damn instincts. I have a couple of things that I want to talk about on that matter, so with no further adieu….
I've maintained that if a person just leaves the big decisions to the cosmos, one can have a pleasant and simple existence. I try hard to live by these words…don't always succeed, but have to concede that the important life decisions that I've made by just cruising through, have always been good, and right.
For instance…a fellow was asking the collected group what it was that he had, and how he could be cured of his malady. Seems as though he had awakened one morning with a horrid rash on his shoulder. It looked like a zillion zits, and was sore as all hell. A friend close to him (my friend is many miles away) said, "You've been attacked by fire ants." I responded in proper fashion, and in my first version, I wrote "well, you could try this and that, but I think that you've got a herpes infection called shingles. See your doctor for an antiviral drug called acyclovir."
That was my first instinct. Do you think I sent that? Nope. I cut off the part about viral infection, thinking if I insinuate that he's got herpes, his chances of getting a date on Saturday night would be greatly diminished. So, I posted my message saying to apply menthol in alcohol and Benedryl to get rid of those nasty fire ant bites.
Next day, he comes back and says he's got shingles. Damn! I knew that but I didn't follow my instinct!
So, I was wrong. Had I done the right thing and followed my better thoughts, I would have offered correct response to his query.
That's where I am now. Following instinct and just shutting up. It didn't work out in another instance recently also, but I don't want to talk about that one, because it involves that awful work thing that I endure, and I'd rather not talk about work right now.
My puzzle at the moment is should I look towards a new job or just shut up and stay here. New job is on the mainland, and one that I don't know actually exists with my name on it. I think I can swing it, with some good connections that I have, but there are a lot of things that are just so uncertain.
The kick is-there's something inside me that says "go." I am at this moment trying to figure out if it's wanderlust that I have or if it's the "real thing." If it is real, that would effectively mean stepping out of my happy home here in Hawaii, (and by the way, things really are copacetic here) and waiting for RR and the other shoe to fall.
I'm rather more tempted to think it's wanderlust and dismiss it. However, I do have plans to visit some friends who live in the same town as proposed new job. They're "Internet buddies", and a couple of guys that I would like to get to know a bit better. I'm not disclosing the location as of yet, because I'd rather not, lest other instinct come into play.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch….
A few things have happened recently. First, I saw Miss Saigon, last week and have some definite opinions about that one. Exposition first, though. Picture this. I've had a rough day, and am coming home late.
I'm tired.
I'm slightly pissed.
RR greets me at the door, asking "Where have you been?"
Now, I'm really pissed. The day has just gone from bad to worserer. (I know it's not a legit word, but I like it.) The answer? "At work…where I've had a pisser of a day. Why do you ask?"
RR comes closer. Well, you have not much time to shower, and dress, because we're going to have a fabulous dinner from Strawberry Connection (the only place in town where you can buy foie gras) and then we're going to see Miss Saigon. Hurry up!"
Now, I'm pissed and annoyed. Frankly, it's about the last thing I had in mind for that night. Mental notes for y'all…don't surprise me. I don't like it. When the group of waiters came around my table one evening and started yelling/singing "happy birthday" at the top of their lungs, I quietly stood and walked out of the restaurant. I didn't come back. don't EVEN go there, girlfriend.
Anyway…on with my story….
I shower quickly, and throw on some clothes that don't make me look too stupid, and we're off. Thomas Square is the park that fronts the Blaisdell Concert Hall, the venue in town, and it has a certain reputation among certain circles. Men are frequently busted with their lips around penises, and there have been more than one murder committed in the restroom there. It is also about two blocks away from the police headquarters. RR's idea was to take a blanket and dine al fresco in the park. I disagreed, stating that Thomas Square was about the worst place in the known universe to pop a champagne cork.
We wound up parked on Young Street just outside of Linekona School. The work vehicle that RR has is a fairly nice Nissan van, with one of the seats removed. The remaining bench was folded down to make a table of sorts. We had just opened that tasty bottle of Piper Heisdeick, when we discovered that the seat wasn't actually a solid thing, and if one placed weight on one end of it, would move, throwing its contents in the general vicinity of where we were sprawled.
We reeked of the entire bottle, which exploded in the usual fashion when they are dropped. Undaunted, we ate our *fabulous* dinner, and set off to see the spectacle that was Miss Saigon. I honestly can't fault it on the whole. The sets were quite adequate; being made of a series of blinds that came and went at whim. They were well lit by a gazillion lighting instruments. Sound? I've given up on ever expecting to hear the voice of an actor again. Modern technology has annihilated the acoustically poor seat. CD quality sound from row A to row ZZ. In fact, you may as well be listening to your CD player. Could have saved $50. (uhh, we had comps, so we didn't even have that luxury.
The music was adequate. It reeked of it's sister play, Les Miserables, and the only songs that I found of any emotional value sounded as though they might have come from the Les Mis soundtrack.
I was, however, quite disappointed by the book. They should have called this thing "Madame Butterfly meets Les Mis in an Osterizer circa 1969 Vietnam. I was amazed at how they followed the plot of Madame Butterfly perfectly. To the point where I could effectively use my theatrical/operatic ESP and say, "Oh, she's going to say this now." *sigh*
I thought the ending sucked bigtime, and was a trite bit of fluff. I was totally emotionless throughout the thing, and in fact had another song from another musical running through my mind. The show was "Chorus Line" and the lyric went something like this:
Other notable thing…I've never sat through a standing ovation before. It's an odd sensation, but I had the feeling that it was being done because someone felt it necessary. There was only one curtain call, and none of the "hana hou-ing" that accompanied the lengthy ovations that followed Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables.
Enough! This opera has gone on long enough. You don’t realize it, but I've actually taken three days to come this far, and I could probably write for another three. I'll spare you, however. I'll finish my tale some other day. Au revoir, dears.
(Ed. note: I never did finish the story. A couple days after this post, the entire journal was taken down and replaced by a single screen that said "Pau. It's been a slice of heaven but it's now finished.")
It's been ages since updating…there have been many things up in life recently, and many things that should bear discussion. However, I have a topic, and I intend to stick to it, damn it! First, so that you have a clue as to what I am thinking about, I'm listening to Gay.com radio. You may access it from their main page, and it magically appears in your RealPlayer thingie. Their topic is children in gay marriages. They happen…really! In fact, a few short hours ago, I had lunch with a fellow who has been with his bf for 19 years, and have an adopted 15-year-old son. It's an interesting topic, and one that I had not considered before. We all know that I do not have a great love of children, unless they are well behaved and proper. Therefore, when the child next to us at lunch began to misbehave, and I stated that I liked my children boiled, he said "You should ask me about this ring." He indicated a Cartier band on his finger that bore a strong resemblance to my own. That's when my faux pas was brought to light.
That's not the topic, though. My topic is this: Follow your damn instincts. I have a couple of things that I want to talk about on that matter, so with no further adieu….
I've maintained that if a person just leaves the big decisions to the cosmos, one can have a pleasant and simple existence. I try hard to live by these words…don't always succeed, but have to concede that the important life decisions that I've made by just cruising through, have always been good, and right.
For instance…a fellow was asking the collected group what it was that he had, and how he could be cured of his malady. Seems as though he had awakened one morning with a horrid rash on his shoulder. It looked like a zillion zits, and was sore as all hell. A friend close to him (my friend is many miles away) said, "You've been attacked by fire ants." I responded in proper fashion, and in my first version, I wrote "well, you could try this and that, but I think that you've got a herpes infection called shingles. See your doctor for an antiviral drug called acyclovir."
That was my first instinct. Do you think I sent that? Nope. I cut off the part about viral infection, thinking if I insinuate that he's got herpes, his chances of getting a date on Saturday night would be greatly diminished. So, I posted my message saying to apply menthol in alcohol and Benedryl to get rid of those nasty fire ant bites.
Next day, he comes back and says he's got shingles. Damn! I knew that but I didn't follow my instinct!
So, I was wrong. Had I done the right thing and followed my better thoughts, I would have offered correct response to his query.
That's where I am now. Following instinct and just shutting up. It didn't work out in another instance recently also, but I don't want to talk about that one, because it involves that awful work thing that I endure, and I'd rather not talk about work right now.
My puzzle at the moment is should I look towards a new job or just shut up and stay here. New job is on the mainland, and one that I don't know actually exists with my name on it. I think I can swing it, with some good connections that I have, but there are a lot of things that are just so uncertain.
The kick is-there's something inside me that says "go." I am at this moment trying to figure out if it's wanderlust that I have or if it's the "real thing." If it is real, that would effectively mean stepping out of my happy home here in Hawaii, (and by the way, things really are copacetic here) and waiting for RR and the other shoe to fall.
I'm rather more tempted to think it's wanderlust and dismiss it. However, I do have plans to visit some friends who live in the same town as proposed new job. They're "Internet buddies", and a couple of guys that I would like to get to know a bit better. I'm not disclosing the location as of yet, because I'd rather not, lest other instinct come into play.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch….
A few things have happened recently. First, I saw Miss Saigon, last week and have some definite opinions about that one. Exposition first, though. Picture this. I've had a rough day, and am coming home late.
I'm tired.
I'm slightly pissed.
RR greets me at the door, asking "Where have you been?"
Now, I'm really pissed. The day has just gone from bad to worserer. (I know it's not a legit word, but I like it.) The answer? "At work…where I've had a pisser of a day. Why do you ask?"
RR comes closer. Well, you have not much time to shower, and dress, because we're going to have a fabulous dinner from Strawberry Connection (the only place in town where you can buy foie gras) and then we're going to see Miss Saigon. Hurry up!"
Now, I'm pissed and annoyed. Frankly, it's about the last thing I had in mind for that night. Mental notes for y'all…don't surprise me. I don't like it. When the group of waiters came around my table one evening and started yelling/singing "happy birthday" at the top of their lungs, I quietly stood and walked out of the restaurant. I didn't come back.
Anyway…on with my story….
I shower quickly, and throw on some clothes that don't make me look too stupid, and we're off. Thomas Square is the park that fronts the Blaisdell Concert Hall, the venue in town, and it has a certain reputation among certain circles. Men are frequently busted with their lips around penises, and there have been more than one murder committed in the restroom there. It is also about two blocks away from the police headquarters. RR's idea was to take a blanket and dine al fresco in the park. I disagreed, stating that Thomas Square was about the worst place in the known universe to pop a champagne cork.
We wound up parked on Young Street just outside of Linekona School. The work vehicle that RR has is a fairly nice Nissan van, with one of the seats removed. The remaining bench was folded down to make a table of sorts. We had just opened that tasty bottle of Piper Heisdeick, when we discovered that the seat wasn't actually a solid thing, and if one placed weight on one end of it, would move, throwing its contents in the general vicinity of where we were sprawled.
We reeked of the entire bottle, which exploded in the usual fashion when they are dropped. Undaunted, we ate our *fabulous* dinner, and set off to see the spectacle that was Miss Saigon. I honestly can't fault it on the whole. The sets were quite adequate; being made of a series of blinds that came and went at whim. They were well lit by a gazillion lighting instruments. Sound? I've given up on ever expecting to hear the voice of an actor again. Modern technology has annihilated the acoustically poor seat. CD quality sound from row A to row ZZ. In fact, you may as well be listening to your CD player. Could have saved $50. (uhh, we had comps, so we didn't even have that luxury.
The music was adequate. It reeked of it's sister play, Les Miserables, and the only songs that I found of any emotional value sounded as though they might have come from the Les Mis soundtrack.
I was, however, quite disappointed by the book. They should have called this thing "Madame Butterfly meets Les Mis in an Osterizer circa 1969 Vietnam. I was amazed at how they followed the plot of Madame Butterfly perfectly. To the point where I could effectively use my theatrical/operatic ESP and say, "Oh, she's going to say this now." *sigh*
I thought the ending sucked bigtime, and was a trite bit of fluff. I was totally emotionless throughout the thing, and in fact had another song from another musical running through my mind. The show was "Chorus Line" and the lyric went something like this:
Nothing.
I'm feeling nothing.
And Karp allowed it,
Which really made me burn!
They all felt something…
But I felt nothing,
Except the feeling
That this bullshit
Was absurd.
Other notable thing…I've never sat through a standing ovation before. It's an odd sensation, but I had the feeling that it was being done because someone felt it necessary. There was only one curtain call, and none of the "hana hou-ing" that accompanied the lengthy ovations that followed Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables.
Enough! This opera has gone on long enough. You don’t realize it, but I've actually taken three days to come this far, and I could probably write for another three. I'll spare you, however. I'll finish my tale some other day. Au revoir, dears.
(Ed. note: I never did finish the story. A couple days after this post, the entire journal was taken down and replaced by a single screen that said "Pau. It's been a slice of heaven but it's now finished.")
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